


The Edge of the Map

by bluefish591



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Muggle/Wizard Relations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefish591/pseuds/bluefish591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Analeigh Grayson is a normal 19 year old girl. University, friends and love are all on her mind, until circumstances and necessity turn it into a fight for survival. Kidnapped for her own safety, she is thrown off the edge of the map - and there may be monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A diversion in the smoker's area

The bar that we're in on Camden high street is so full of people I'm finding it hard to breathe. Ahead of me I can just about make out the alarmingly blond head of Tom above the crowd, slowly pushing towards the drinks counter. I try to follow him as close as I can, but even despite my height advantage over a lot of people (I'm 5'10") I don't have a weight advantage, so it's all rather pointless. Tom looks back and sees that I'm struggling, and yells over the din "Just go wait out in the smoker's area, I'll get the drinks".

I grin at him gratefully as he turns around to continue his struggle, and begin to make my way towards the open doors at the other end of the bar. I stumble slightly (we had a couple of beers earlier, and I'm kind of a lightweight) but it's easier going this way, and I make it there quickly, unable to stop a slight gasp of relief as I step out onto the gated part of the street reserved for smokers. It's not much of a temperature difference – it's late-June and London is sweltering, but at least I'm not crammed up against a bunch of sweaty after-work people anymore. I feel a push behind me and realise that I'm blocking the entrance, so I go to lean by the metal barrier at the end of the area, feeling a bit awkward as the people around me are all in groups chattering. I also feel a bit under-dressed – Tom and I had been sunbathing most of the day in Regent's Park, and just decided to stop for a drink on our way back to central, so I'm still in my white sundress and wedge-heeled sling-back sandals. But I guess I look pretty (despite some sunburn that I strongly suspect is blooming on my cheekbones and shoulders) so I don't worry about it too much. As if to prove my point, a guy well into his 40s stumbles over and asks if I wanna share his cigarette – I say "No thank you sir" because I don't smoke (usually) and I always mind my manners, and edge further down the barrier away from the door. "A lady without etiquette is not a lady at all" is what my mother always said. She's from Charleston, South Carolina, and did her best to raise me as a nice southern girl, despite living in England for most of my life. That would be because of my dad – born and raised in London, he's a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet, a real city animal. My mother often says she misses the open spaces and sweltering heat of the South. I can't say I blame her – every summer we go to our beach house on Folly beach, and I fall in love all over again with the beauty of it. But my mother doesn't complain. "Your father's a good man", she says, "we all make sacrifices in relationships". I used to resent that, but it makes sense to me now.

Once that thought crosses my mind, I can't help but think of Tom. We're just friends (technically), we've never even kissed, but from the moment we met each other in our first year of university in London, we had this spark – chemistry is an understatement. But nothing ever came about, though we flirted outrageously with each other, especially when drunk. It's one of those things where he's really just looking for a friends-with-benefits arrangement, and I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl. So for a while it was a battle of wills, each of us trying to get the other to bend to our expectations. Now, having just finished our second year of university, he's going away to study abroad in Germany for his third year, and I'm left here wondering what could've been. A lot of the time I wish he'd hurry up and leave already, it'd be easier to forget him if he was gone. But now standing here having spent the day with him (the last time I'll get to see him before he leaves), I suddenly try to imagine what next year will be like without him, and realise that despite everything, I want to kiss him before he goes. I wonder if maybe the sun has addled my brains.

As I'm musing, I'm standing with my back to the bar, staring off into the shadows of the alleyway that extends behind the smoker's area before curving around and out of sight. And my train of thought is somewhat interrupted when out of the corner of my eye I see a flicker of movement in the shadows. My body tenses, and there's a tremble of apprehension that makes the downy hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, even through my somewhat drunken haze. That's when two men emerge from the alleyway, seeming to melt from the darkness itself. The situation isn't outwardly that alarming – they're dressed in long black robe-things, but this is Camden – there are a lot of strange people around even during the day. But some tiny voice in the back of my head is screaming, and as instinct tells me to run but reason locks me in place, the smaller of the two men raises his arm, and they're close enough that I can hear him mumble something. I try to turn around, to see if anyone else has noticed the strange spectacle in front of me, but I can't move – not just frozen in fright, I literally cannot move. There's a faint buzzing noise in my head now, and all I can do is stare wide-eyed at the two men approaching. They have sticks in their hand. What the hell. The larger of the men grabs my arm and I feel whatever it was keeping me in place is removed. Whirling round as fast as I can despite his hold on me, I open my mouth to scream to anyone HELP but my mouth is open and there's no words coming out. I can feel the air skimming my vocal cords but there's no vibration, and certainly no sound. I face the men again in horror and realise the large one is already dragging me round the side of the barrier towards the alleyway, while the smaller one keeps his stick pointed interchangeably at me and the crowd. And I suddenly know through no reasoning at all, that whatever strange behaviour has just occurred (including the loss of my voice) is due to that stick.

The shock of this makes me still for a moment, as they continue to drag me limply from the smoker's area, but then the buzzing in my head crescendos to a roar and I start thrashing. It's not lady-like but I use the wedge heels on my feet to my advantage, lashing out at the feet of the man with the hold on my arm, and trying to slap him, kick him, bite him, ANYTHING to stop the approaching darkness of the alleyway. It's not enough though, and as we round the corner out of sight of the club he throws me against the brick wall in frustration. I think my head must have smacked off the wall pretty hard, as for a moment my whole vision swims and I crumple to the ground, dazed. I can hear them talking above me, the larger one is saying "Fuck Dolohov, she BIT me, look at it!"

"Then get a better grip on her you idiot" the smaller one replies, glaring down at me like something he'd wipe off his shoe.

"Why don't you try then? I didn't see you helping!"

"Someone had to keep the muggles from noticing something"

Muggles? My brain is slowly coming back into gear, and I attempt to stand up. If this is a mugging then it's best if I just give them what they want. I try to open my purse but the short one is in front of me and pushes me back down to the ground with such force that I hit my head against the wall again. When my vision clears, I see him squatting in front of me. The back of my head feels like an anvil, and I vaguely wonder how many brain cells I've lost in the process of being slammed twice into a wall.

"How can we be sure she's the right one?" the large one, asks, obviously not talking to me.

"We cut her" replied the short man, Dolohov, smiling.

I stare at him in horror. Then remembering the use of my limbs I lash out, trying to land a kick or a punch or anything anywhere it counts. Dolohov leaps away but raises his stick, muttering, and suddenly my limbs snap together, as if bound by invisible ropes. I'm crying now, and a little of my voice seems to have returned so I try to say "Please…please don't, just take the money I promise I won't tell anyone please…don't kill me" but it comes out little more than a whimper. There's nothing I can do when Dolohov bends down again and places the baton-thing on the inside of my forearm and mutters "Sectumsempra", and I cry harder in pain and shock when the skin there is ripped open, as if by some invisible knife. There's blood running down me, and I look up at the sliver of sky above the alleyway while my thoughts keep up a constant stream of WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY. The men are talking together again as my white dress begins to dampen from my own blood, and I start to feel light-headed, wishing for a moment that this could all be over. But nothing prepares me for the shock when, having appeared to have reached some sort of agreement, the large man bends down, runs a single finger through the blood on the length of my forearm, and puts it to his mouth and licks it. After that my brain goes quiet. Deadly quiet. I can't think. I'm watching him through saucer-eyes, as his own eyes widen and he turns to Dolohov saying "Yes it's definitely her…her blood's like – "

But I don't get to find out how my blood tasted, as from out of nowhere a VW Polo flies through the narrow of the alleyway and smashes into the two men. As I'm crumpled against the wall, the small car doesn't touch me. Dolohov goes down instantly on impact and doesn't move, but the large man is hit and, seemingly to his own surprise as well as mine, gets up again, though on rather shaky legs. I also try to scramble to my feet, my thoughts beginning to flow again and edge along the side of the Polo (which stopped in front of me) so that I am on the opposite side of it to the man. It is then that I see two more men, younger I think than the first ones, walking towards us. Though I can't make out their faces in the darkness, there is a certain intensity to them, crackling with danger, and I can't help but back away slightly as they make their way over to me. One of them has glasses, I can see that now, and he opens his mouth to say something –

But I never hear it because unbeknownst to them the large man has fully regained his wits and is pointing his baton at us. "Sirius!" I hear the glasses-man yell, and the other waves his baton, putting up some sort of shield between us and the jet of red light that was zooming our way. It bounces harmlessly away, flying back towards the man, who is forced to duck behind the car between us. I stagger backwards and into the glasses-man, who grabs my arm and slings me towards Sirius, shouting, "Take her and go!"

"I'm not leaving you to deal with a Death Eater by yourself James!"

"If you don't go now you'll miss the portkey and the whole plan will be shot! I'll distract Mulciber and just apparate on ahead of you"

"Fuck" says Sirius, noticing that Mulciber is getting to his feet again.

"Just go! I can handle it!"

For a moment it looks like Sirius is going to refuse, but then his grip on my arm tightens painfully and I squirm and then I'm being dragged behind him as he runs away. There's sounds of a fight going on behind us but I'm too busy trying not to fall over as he hurtles round sharp bends and dark corners, into the unknown.


	2. Purple Knights and talking mirrors

For a moment I am relieved to be out of that alleyway, and feeling the air rushing past my face as the shadow of a man in front of my navigates us through the back streets of Camden. The surreality of it sends adrenaline rushing through my body. But then my arm flies out to steady myself as we make another sharp turn, and I see blood from the deep cut on my forearm spatter the walls of the narrow street – and I am shocked back in to reality. I dig my heels in abruptly, causing the man, Sirius, to jerk back, and I fight, pushing my palms against him and squirming, shrieking, trying to free myself from his vice-like grip on my wrist. He lets me struggle for a moment, seemingly surprised, and then loses patience. He shakes me so hard I feel my teeth rattle and I close my eyes, sobbing.

"Look at me" I hear it even though it's barely more than a growl. I open my eyes and want to shut them again because his face is inches away from mine, and there's a fury and desperation in his eyes that makes me cringe. I hiccup as more tears run down my face, but his expression just hardens even further.

"You're going to fucking co-operate, Analeigh Grayson, because I just left behind my closest friend to get you to safety. And if you don't, I'll leave you behind and go back to him, and I don't give three shits who finds you. Am I clear?"

I swallow hard, still holding his gaze. He knows my name he knows my name he knows my name. I wonder what else he knows. My brain clears slightly. I weigh up my options. His grip on my arm is still hard as steel. There'll be bruises there tomorrow. Pissing him off is achieving nothing. And he did get me away from those two men in black robes, albeit somewhat reluctantly. I look away, nod once and bite my lip, letting tears continue to run down my cheeks. He takes the acceptance, snorts, turns around and begins to stride down the deserted street, not as fast as before but still dragging me along behind him.

The clacking of my heels seem to echo in the silence. I muster my courage to stutter out "Umm…I…where – where are we going then?"

"We're taking a bus" he replies shortly, not looking at me. We turn another corner and he looks up and down the street, and comes to a halt so abruptly I stumble into him. He spares me one glare and pulls a baton out of his pocket. Involuntarily I flinch away, my mind goes blank with fear and I squirm again in his grip. His gaze flashes towards me, and I think I imagine it but maybe his eyes soften slightly.

"I'm just calling our ride," he says lowly, turning his gaze back to the street, and sticks out his arm with the baton from the curb, as if hailing a taxi. For a moment there's nothing. I begin to wonder if this is all a sick joke, but the drip drip drip of my bloody arm tells me otherwise. I look at it idly – there's so much blood you can't see the tan skin of my arm anymore, and I feel slightly faint so I look away again. Sirius is watching me but doesn't say anything. That's when the street light above us starts to flicker ominously. Really, it's like something out of a movie. And then with a BANG a violently purple bus comes from out of nowhere, careening up the street, and lurches to a halt right in front of us.

I'm frozen in place gawping up at the golden shimmering letters on its side that read The Knight Bus, but Sirius lets go of my arm and approaches it, as a conductor in an equally violent purple uniform hops down from the door and begins to speak with a Cockney twang,

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wiz – "

"Yeah yeah" says Sirius irritably, interrupting the conductor and walking briskly towards the door. He digs around in his pockets and shoves a handful of what looks like solid gold into the conductor's affronted face, which immediately changes to a grin at the sight of money. "We need to go to Stonehaven, as close to Dunnotar Castle as you can get us".

"In a rush then? Alright alright le' me just git your change then sir" says the conductor, turning back around.

"Take us there first and you can keep the change", barks Sirius, stepping on to the bus. He stops for a second, and whirls around to face me. It's as if my feet are rooted to the ground. Every piece of common sense that has been instilled in me since childhood is telling me (in my mother's voice) don't you dare get on that bus. You won't be able to get off. It could take you anywhere. Run. Go home. Sirius seems to sense my dilema, and just as I'm starting to back away, jumps down again and propels me towards the door with a hand on my back. I want to fight but he mutters in my ear try anything and I'll knock you out, so I allow myself to be steered onto the strange Knight Bus, thinking it'd be more helpful for future escape plans to see where he's taking me. The slam of the doors as they shut behind us rings of terrible finality, and I see the conductor looking at me with a mix of horror and curiosity. I look down at my ruined dress and arm that is still weeping feebly with blood, and start to feel sick again, so I avert my gaze. I hear the clink of coins and Sirius saying to the conductor "That's for no questions", before I get a proper look at the interior of the bus. There's beds everywhere that look as if they were shifted suddenly, as the only other passenger on the bus is an old woman picking herself up gingerly from the floor. My brain is too exhausted to question this strangeness any further, so I let Sirius push me onto a bed and sit still as he takes a seat behind me.

"Hold on" is all he says before the bus gives an almighty lurch and we're rocketing down the street, swerving parked cars and lamposts that appear to jump out of the way and then

BANG.

Suddenly there is no city and the bus is rocketing down a country lane, and I'm thinking that I'd rather not see how close we are to hitting things, my brain can't take any more worry. So I turn my head away from the window and towards my sullen companion who I do not have the guts to ask "why Stonehaven, what could possibly be in Scotland?" because his eyes are still steel chips of grey and I know for some reason that rage is directed at least partly at me. He is digging through the pockets of his leather jacket and I get a chance to fully inspect him.

He is tall, I registered that subconsciously back in Camden, about 6'3", 6'4" maybe, enough to tower over me. His hair is a bit too long to be average, and straight with a slight wave, black as ink, resting messily in his eyes though he pulls his hand through it occasionally to clear his face. And his face – he is handsome, there's no denying it. If I'd seen him in a club I would probably have tried to make eye contact with him, see if he wants to buy me a drink…but as it is, I only register it as a physical description. He has an aristocratic look about him, and effortless elegance, like he could be from old money, or maybe even royalty. He would fit well in a Mayfair or Kensington club, I think idly. That thought brings me up sharply, and I gasp softly "Tom!"

Sirius pauses in his digging to glare at me. "Who?"

I turn to face him fully on the bed, suddenly filled with urgency. "My – friend…Tom, he was with me…in the bar, he won't know what's happened, will he be OK? Are the men after him too? You should've – "

His hand over my mouth cuts me off mid-rant, and his eyes are burning with sullen anger again.

"Shut your mouth before someone hears you" he seethes, looking subtly at the old woman on her bed, and the conductor up at the front. Neither of them look to be paying attention though. He continues, "You're not the only one worried for a friend".

He returns to his pockets, and I return to my silent observing. He seems to find what he is looking for, and pulls out a rather ornate mirror that looks far too large to fit comfortable into the pocket from which he pulled it. But I don't say anything. There are so many weird things happening if I question every one I think my head might explode. And the effects of being slammed into a wall multiple times are coming back to hurt – I rub the back of my head absent-mindedly. Sirius is staring intently into the glassy surface, his gaze roaming the reflection as if expecting to see something more. And he isn't disappointed. His hard expression shifts to one of relief as a different face appears in the glass. His friend, James, is in the mirror. With one quick glance to make sure the old woman is still sleeping, Sirius says "Alright Prongs, you OK?"

And James replies. I try to push the fact that they were communicating via mirror from my mind, so as to better understand the conversation. I just file it away with all the other strange happenings of the night to freak out about when I am more functioning and coherent.

"Yeah fine, I distracted Mulciber long enough for you two to get away, then disapparated myself. The bugger was tough though, tougher than usual. Did he…?"

The question hangs in the air. Sirius glances my way, so subtly I wouldn't have noticed but for the fact I'm staring at him. His eyes flash to my bloody arm and he turns back to the mirror nodding "Probably".

"Right, that explains it then" says James briskly. "Do you need any help? If you tell me where you are I can apparate over and – "

"Nah don't worry about it," says Sirius. "You apparating will just draw more attention to us. I'll stick to the plan, we're pretty well on schedule".

"Alright," James replied, though he looked doubtful.

"See you back at base then?"

"Yeah" Sirius grins, flashing shiny white teeth at the mirror as James' face is replaced by his own. He puts the mirror away, and I notice the tension that had previously been coiled into his body is all but gone. Suddenly, he turns to me, not quite smiling but with a softer face.

"OK this must all be completely confusing…" he starts, and I continue to stare at him like a lemon.

"But I'm not the right person to really explain it to you" he continues. His voice is gentler than before, like he's talking to a wounded animal. Which I suppose I kind of am. "That's for back at base. Right now all you need to know is that you're going somewhere safe. We have to take a rather convoluted route, just in case anyone's following us, and I can't just apparate, er…teleport?...us there, 'cause we don't know if they managed to put a trace on you. Traces can be activated by app – teleportation. So we're taking a long way. Stonehaven isn't our final stop, more of a diversion really. But you'll end up safe". He finishes somewhat awkwardly.

I continue to stare at him. Finally finding my voice, I say the only thing I can think of right now: "I want to go home", and begin to pull away from him, my breath picking up pace and I can feel the edges of a panic attack beginning to creep in on my consciousness. The rational part of me thinks about time, your fight-or-fight should have kicked in long ago, but he sees my response and grabs my shoulder to stop me pulling away. He puts his face next to mine and before I can object to this invasion of personal space I hear him whisper "Stop making this so difficult. We've risked a lot for this. I wouldn't expect you to understand but at least wait until you do. Now stop. Your. Crying." And I do, because there's a lace of anger back in his voice, and as he pulls away I see that his eyes are stone again.

Sighing heavily he reaches for my injured arm with one hand, and raises the baton in the other. Seeing me squirm away again at the sight of it, he tightens his grip but says calmly "I'm just going to bandage it. This here is called a wand. We do magic with it". I look at him dumbly but before I can react he is muttering words and there's a nice warm feeling on the cut in my arm. I look down and see white bandages snaking around it, binding tightly but not uncomfortably over the gash, and stopping the bleeding. Looking up to meet his eyes, I feel a sudden wave of lassitude has taken me, and it has all become too much. I think I knew that all along, the voice in my head says dully. The Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, was what the conductor was saying. A wand, it makes sense…in a twisted sort of way. What else could explain this but magic. Seemingly sensing my exhaustion, Sirius lets me slip from his grip and fall sideways onto the bed, so that my legs hang off the side but my torso is lying down. The bus is still jerking and BANGing occasionally, but there is almost nothing I can do to keep the darkness from encroaching on my vision, and I welcome the relief from conscious thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaaaand the next one! Thanks to those who made it past the first chapter, I know it's slow...  
> BFxx


	3. Hiking in heels and portkeys

When he wakes me it feels like I only blinked, but he tells me it's been about an hour. I sit up groggily and try to fight the feeling that I'm sinking back into a nightmare, but I barely have time to yawn before the Knight bus has lurched to a stop again, and Sirius is dragging me towards the door. I stumble around, trying to find my balance as my wedge heels catch on the threadbare rug covering the floor, and gasp when I reach the open door. It's cold (even though it's almost July) and there's quite a wind. Stonehaven is in Scotland, of course it's going to be cold, says the more awake side of my brain. Within seconds, though, I am wide awake, and shivering violently as Sirius nods to the conductor and gets off behind me. With a creak and a BANG, the Knight bus shoots off into the distance before disappearing, leaving darkness and a ringing silence behind it. Sirius turns around and looks me up and down, as if estimating. There's no moon in the sky, but the stars are plentiful and bright so I can just about make out the glint of his eyes in the darkness. He seems to reach some kind of decision, heaves a sigh, and begins to shrug out of his leather jacket, saying "You're really not dressed for this, are you?"

I look down at my white sun dress (somewhat stained with blood) and bare legs, and think well I wasn't exactly given warning. But I accept his jacket gratefully, and pull it on. It's heavy, still warm from his body heat, smelling so obviously masculine; and for the first time in this horrific night I allow myself to feel just a little bit safe. He watches me zip it up, pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks at my feet. "Try to go as far as you can in those shoes before you take them off. Don't twist your ankle though, that's just what we need."

He sounds exasperated. I look down at the offending footwear and suddenly realise that we are literally in the middle of nowhere. The bus dropped us on a very narrow country lane, surrounded by what seems like fields. It's impossible to make out a thing in the darkness, but listening closely I can hear the soft crash of waves against rock. The salt tang in the air reminds me of summers at Folly beach, and this sudden familiarity gives me the courage to ask him "Where are we going?" without stuttering.

His shadowy form seems to loom over me as he moves closer, but I don't step back. It's so dark, and I would rather stay close to this surly stranger than be alone in the inky night. "We're going to have to take this path round the edge of the cliffs through the fields. There's a portkey there – kind of a teleportation device – that will take us to our headquarters, but it leaves in an hour's time so we need to get going" he says, looking around.

I'm just about to express some kind of concern about standing so close to a cliff edge in pitch darkness when he mutters "Lumos", and his wand lights up like a torch. It's much more pleasant than a torch though, I think, captivated by it. All silvery and glowy. He holds it up in the space between us, casting striking shadows on his face, and I wonder vaguely what I must look like to him. He stares at me for a moment, searching my face with a strange expression in his eyes, then jerks his head to the right and walks off. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding, and follow him down the path. I don't bring up the weird teleportation device – lassitude has taken over my mind again and I can't bring myself to worry about it. Headquarters…sounds like something government-related…is this to do with Dad? I think but don't ask, because I am now too intent on navigating the rough country lane with my wedge sandals. Sirius' wand casts enough of a glow to light my way from in front of him, and I stumble and trip, keeping up lest I should fall out of the circle of light and into the darkness.

I don't know how long we walk for. My mind is in a daze, only capable of concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and trying not to twist an ankle. There are large pebbles and grass roots everywhere, and at the edge of the path heather snags at the hem of my dress. I can still hear the water lapping at the rocks below in a steady, soothing rhythm. At some point I decide the shoes aren't worth it and take them off. Sirius waits patiently, and we continue our trek, sandals swinging from my hand. I know the rough ground is tearing into my feet, but the air is cold and I lost feeling in my lower limbs a while back. The path, which at first was sloping gently upwards, now reaches a steeper incline, and the wind begins to pick up. Caught unawares I stumble and almost fall as the gust catches in the back of the over-sized jacket and almost blows me into the heather. I remember this problem from my Duke of Edinburgh expedition - being taller than average but light-weight, and wearing large clothing turns me into a human wind sail. By the third time this happens, Sirius (who appears to be fighting a smile) takes my shoes from me and tells me to walk in front of him instead. When I do I feel the fabric of the jacket pull tight. I jump slightly, but realise this is only because he has grabbed a fistful of the material, to keep a hold on me. Another gust proves this point, as he drags me back on track against the wind.

And so we continue. The path becomes so steep at one point that I have to use my arms to balance on some rocks as I try to fight the wind and climb around them. Sirius stays behind me, using his grip on the jacket to guide or steady (or sometimes just drag) me when I stumble.

"Come on, we're almost there", he says, almost encouragingly. "We have to hurry or else we'll miss it. Come on". But I'm out of breath, out of energy and all too tired to be climbing on cliff paths at near 3am, so he grabs my arm and starts to pull me up the hill. It seems like years ago that we left the bus, and I'm just about to say no, no thank you, I'd like to give up now when the path suddenly levels out. I bump into Sirius as he comes to a halt. "There it is, we're here. And just in time too" he says to me, and leads us slightly off the path, over to a small unassuming heather bush. Underneath it, there is an old worn glove. It's not a bad glove - in fact it would probably warm my hands up substantially and I'd be grateful. But it just doesn't look like a teleportation machine.

I feel a bubble of laughter rising up in my throat, escaping my mouth as a high-pitched giggle. Sirius looks at me strangely, but exhaustion is taking over and my brain feels like it's running in overdrive so I can't stop myself. I burst into laughter. "That's what we hiked all this way for? An old glove?" I manage through my giggles. Sirius seems to sense how close I am to a breakdown, and grabs my shoulders, turning me to face him. He ducks his head to bring his eyes level with mine, and I my laughter dies on my lips. Suddenly it's not very funny any more. The sky over his shoulder must be east, because I can see the pitch black of night is fading to indigo.

"We're almost there." He's almost whispering. "Don't lose it. Keep going a little longer and it'll all make sense, I promise".

I duck my head, unable to hold his gaze, and feel my eyes water again. The fatigue is weighing on me – I think my body must have used up all its adrenaline back in that alleyway, because I can't summon a single coherent thought. But the tone of his voice is so soothing and I allow myself to be reassured. I nod and he releases me, looks at his watch (a strange contraption that doesn't even bear thinking about right now) and swears. He grabs my waist so that we're pressed chest to chest - I can't even find the energy to complain – and hauls me closer to the glove.

"You need to hold on to it, OK? It leaves in 10 seconds. You're going to feel a tug, and then some spinning. Please don't throw up on me." I want to tell him no no, I've never thrown up in my life, but he continues, "Portkeys are a bit like muggle trains – they leave at a certain time from a certain place, and arrive somewhere else".

With that, he starts counting down from 5. I look blankly at the glove and he rolls his eyes, jamming the half that he isn't holding into my un-resisting fingers.

3

I close my eyes.

2

I can just feel his breath on the crown of my head before…

1

My eyes fly open as I feel a huge tug somewhere around my navel, and my feet are swept off the ground. This does not feel like a train. Well, maybe like a train without a roof. We're spinning through wind and blurred colours and I'm trying to scream but my stomach is in my throat and I want to let go but my hand is glued to the glove and his arm to my waist and then –

My bare feet slam into solid ground and I go down with the force of it. A grunt by my ear tells me that Sirius has also fallen over, and when I open my eyes I see that we are a tangled mass of limbs on a grassy lawn.

"Where…" is all I can manage before I double over, groaning as the world continues to spin around me.

Fortunately Sirius understands what I mean.

"In the Lake District. Specifically, the small town of Kendal. But this isn't where we're stopping. You alright?"

He grabs a hold of my elbow as I try to stand up and sway alarmingly to the right. I feel a bit queasy, but definitely not throwing-up-kind-of sick.

"Yeah, just dizzy I think"

"Portkeys take a bit of getting used to. That's why everyone prefers apparation" he smiles wryly. I think it's some kind of inside joke, but I'm not sure what apparation is so I smile back weakly and stay silent. He's being kind of nice, a stark contrast to his behaviour earlier this evening. Maybe he has mood swings. Looking around, I can see that we have arrived in a small park, more like a village green. Sirius ushers me forward towards the exit gate, and we emerge on to a quiet residential street, lined with parked cars. He looks around, seemingly searching for something, and then makes his way over to a car, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of keys as he goes. I walk warily behind him, still shaking the last spells of dizziness from my head, and ask, "Is this your car?"

"No." is the simple reply, but when he sees the look on my face, he elaborates. "It's one that the Order uses for its…activities…when needed. I'm just using it for tonight."

I'm silently thankful - it sounds stupid considering all that's happened tonight, but becoming a thief (or accomplice) just seems like one step too far. He unlocks the car and opens the passenger door, watching me closely as I slide in and make myself comfortable before shutting it behind me. No doubt he thinks I might try to run again. Honestly, there is a voice in my head chanting run run run run run but I'm too tired to listen, and getting in is much easier. The driver's side opens and then he's in the car, the engine's on and he's swearing black and blue at the gear stick. We stall twice before he manages to get the car unparked, and then we're roaring down the road at what must be well over the speed limit, jerking violently every time he changes gear.

"I usually drive a motorcycle…a Triumph," he says by way of explanation, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and pride. I look over at his profile. The sun is now just peaking over the horizon, and half his face is bathed in pale gold light. The longer strands of his hair brush the collar of his t-shirt and fall in his eyes, and I think Yes, I can imagine you would ride a motorbike. Fits with your rebel look. He continues quietly "Our headquarters are half an hour away, at Denwood House, we'll be there soon".

I nod once and turn back to rest my head against the window glass, and watch the sun rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for making it this far - I promise there will be lots of Sirius, but I want to make Analeigh's introduction to the magical world believable, and that will take time. Reviews make my day! Oh and I forgot to do this for the other chapters but I own nothing but Analeigh and Analeigh-related characters/things. Everything else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling!  
> BFxx


	4. A room with a view

I sit quietly, playing with the sleeve ends of the slightly worn leather jacket I'm still wearing. The owner of the jacket hasn't said another word since leaving the town, and I begin to grow uneasy in the silence. Conversation is an art, I hear my mother's voice say in my head. Always take an interest in what people have to say – yes Analeigh, no matter how dull. It may come in handy later. She is always good at small talk, remembering little details about people, as if to prove to them that she cares. And as little as I want to converse with the stranger to my right, I have a million questions buzzing around in my mind that need to be answered – or at least voiced. With that, I blurt out the one foremost in my mind – "What's happened to my parents?"

When he doesn't reply, I continue.

"Are they after them as well?" I don't exactly know who they are, but I figure Sirius will know what I mean. His jaw clenches, but I press on.

"When will I see them again? Are you protecting them too?"

At that, he turns his gaze from the road for a few seconds to meet my eyes, and I can see that they are guarded, grey chips of steel.

"After a fashion, yes" he finally replies, not looking at me.

"What does that mean?"

He lets out a puff of breath, and I see his fingers are clenched as well as his jaw now.

"Didn't I tell you you'd find out at headquarters? Stop asking questions."

I realise I have been too blunt. He won't answer my straight-up questions about anything important. But any information is good information, Analeigh, no matter how insignificant it may initially seem, my mother's voice says again. It's not for nothing that she became a politician's wife. I stare out of the window for a moment, watching the stone walls rush by. Half of the sky is still a deep blue, but I can just make out the edges of some of the hills that the Lake District is famous for. Were I here for any other reason other than the one I am, it would be beautiful. As it is though…I turn to face Sirius again. He looks a bit more relaxed, and I gulp, take a deep breath and ask in my most polite voice, "How old are you?"

He seems genuinely surprised by the question, taking a quick look at my face to check if I really just asked that. There's a pause, as he seems to weigh up the pros and cons of answering, before opening his mouth to reply, "I turn 20 this autumn".

"I…thought you'd be older", I blurt out without thinking. That sounded rude. I try to cover my slip-up. "I mean, to be doing this kind of thing…" I trail off awkwardly.

He smiles slightly, a crooked thing, lifting only one corner of his mouth, and it makes him seem even younger.

"Wizards and witches come of age at 17. I dunno, maybe we just grow up faster", he says.

17? My brain is going haywire. Think of all the 17 year olds you know, and imagine them as certified adults. The thought is too alarming to ponder on for long. I suppose there's not much difference between 17 and 18. But in the States you only properly come of age at 21, and that's quite a difference.

I raise my head to ask another question and find he's looking at me out of the corner of his eye, still smirking. "Don't look so scandilised," he says lazily. "I'm very responsible."

At first I want to scoff yeah right, but then my mind goes back to the Camden alleyway, and I realise it might be true. Both he and his friend seem…older than their age.

"That guy, James was it?" I venture quietly. "Who was with you in the alleyway…he's your friend, right?"

"Yeah. We're more than friends though, practically brothers. He's…helped me a lot…out of bad situations and stuff".

I let his evasion pass, and ask lightly,

"Do you have an actual brother?"

I'm only curious, but his face changes instantly from relaxed and mildly amused to hard stone, and I'm thinking crap, nice one Analeigh because I've obviously put my foot in it, even though I don't know what it is.

"No." he replies through gritted teeth, and I sense that our brief conversation is over.

Not long after, we turn off the country road onto an even narrower lane, and I can tell we are almost there. I can't watch the sunrise anymore, as the sky has been blocked in by gloomy grey clouds, and there's a heavy drizzle drifting down. The vague sense of calm that pervaded my mind for the first part of the car journey is swiftly being replaced by the familiar taste of panic in the back of my mouth, and by the time we turn through a stone gateway and onto a snaking drive, my heart is thumping so loudly I'm sure it must be audible. What do they want? What are they going to do to me? Who are THEY? My mind is racing and I'm wringing my hands anxiously and it's all I can do not to leap out of the car while it's moving and run for the hills. It's pointless though, they'd catch you.

"Stop panicking, it's ridiculous"

His voice snaps me out of my train of thought, and I look at him blankly, not sure I heard him correctly.

"Pardon?"

"Calm down. I can practically smell your fear."

And now I'm angry, because with all the events that have led to this point since that bar in Camden, I'm fairly sure my freaking out is not ridiculous.

"What are you, a dog or something?" I sneer at him. It's a weak insult and he knows it. He barks a short humourless laugh, and I think perhaps there's more truth to it than I thought.

"Maybe" he replies, turning to me with a wolfish grin that makes me lose all my new-found bravery.

However, I'm spared from having to reply, as we pull up outside a large manor house. It looks like it could have been handsome once, but has long since suffered from neglect and disrepair. Vines cover a large part of the front face, and the roof is sagging slightly. In fact, I'm initially surprised that it's still inhabitable, but peering closer I notice – the house doesn't look quite right. For one thing, there are several towers and extensions branching waywardly from the walls and roof. I look for beams or pillars, something supporting the structures, but there are none – it's like a child has stuck them on to the house using glue. Not glue, I think. Magic. They must be using something to keep this place from falling down, and I'm pretty sure it's not bricks and mortar. I strongly suspect that whoever lived at Denwood House before magic took over would find the place unrecogniseable now.

Sirius is watching my amazed reaction as we get out of the car, his brow furrowed. "What?" I say rudely, still somewhat piqued about his "ridiculous" comment from earlier.

"The anti-Muggle charms obviously don't work on you, then" he replies, still with a puzzling look on his face.

I don't understand what he means, but there's no time to think on it before he has me by the elbow and is dragging me through the rather imposing front door and in from the rain.

We are barely through the door before Sirius is mobbed by a figure that comes sprinting from one of the side rooms.

"THERE you are! Took you long enough mate, I was about to get a search party together!"

It's James, and as I see Sirius and he clapping each other on the back and grinning, I think to myself "practically brothers".

"What are you talking about, Prongs, we're right on schedule!" Sirius shoots back.

"Is Dumbledore here?"

"Nah, he's been delayed…"

Turning to me, James extends his hand, grinning openly.

"Sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself before, was a bit busy with a Death Eater," He laughs again, and I see Sirius looking at me, trying to gauge my reaction to the strange word. "I'm James Potter", he continues.

Somewhat on autopilot, I'm vaguely aware of shaking his hand and nodding, not quite capable to get words out as I continue to look around the interior of the house. We're in a long hallway with a marble floor and two proper chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. When I look more closely, I see that they have real candles in them, not just candle-shaped bulbs. Do magic people not use electricity?

"Honestly James, don't frighten her"

The new voice rings from a large double-doorway off to the left of the hallway, as a girl emerges and walks towards us. She's a bit shorter than me, with long swishing red hair and startling green eyes, and I'm suddenly very aware of the makeup running down my face and my hair plastered to my head by the rain.

"I'm not", says James indignantly, putting his arm around her shoulders as she nears.

"I'm Lily Evans," says the girl. She seems to notice my pitiful attempt at a smile, and reaches forward to take one of my hands, squeezing it gently in a surprisingly comforting gesture. "Come in to the kitchen and have something to eat, you must be exhausted. Gideon and Fabian brought some of Molly's stew with them, we can have that."

And with that she leads me through the double-doorway from which she came, watching me closely all the while, as if worried I might burst into tears. I would, if I could summon the energy. The kitchen is a large, cavernous space, but is made warm by the roaring fire under the chimney at the centre of the back wall. By the fireplace stand two men, and at first glance I think they are twins. Both have the same large nose, red hair and freckles, though as I look more closely I can see that one is slightly taller, the other of a stockier build, and I am not surprised when Lily introduces them as brothers.

"Fabian and Gideon Prewett" she says, as they step forward and shake my limp hand in turn. As the taller one, Fabian, is letting go of my hand, he notices the edges of the bandages on my forearm poking out from the sleeve of the leather jacket I'm still wearing.

"Is that where…?"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but he doesn't need to because behind me Sirius is nodding gravely. My blood. This all has something to do with my blood. I remember the man who tasted it in the alleyway, and the thought weighs on my mind as Fabian turns to me and says gently,

"Why don't you let me dress that properly for you, Analeigh"

He gestures to the bandages on my arm. Looking down at it and rolling up the jacket sleeve, I realise it is still a mess, covered in dried blood – Sirius didn't clean any of the blood away before bandaging it back on the bus. God that feels like decades ago. His brother, Gideon, is ladling some of the stew into two bowls.

I nod weakly, and let him lead me to the long table that takes up the centre part of the kitchen and sit down. As he peels off the bandages, I am suddenly conscious that the whole kitchen has gone quiet, as if holding a collective breath. The only noise now is the crackling of the fire in the grate, and I look around to see everyone casting meaningful looks first at each other, then at my arm and the ugly gash that is now on full display there. Sirius sits down, a bit further away across the table with James, and Lily places a bowl of stew in front of us, taking a seat opposite me. The room is still quiet, and to distract myself from the slight stinging of my arm, I use my free hand to spoon some stew into my mouth. Lily continues to watch me like I might either faint or explode, her eyes flicking repeatedly from my face to my arm and back.

The stew warms my body, and I start to feel the first prickles of anger in my throat.

Blood. It always comes back to my blood. What are they looking at me like that for? I've had enough.

"Would somebody please tell me what exactly is going on?" I demand, though I try to keep the frustration out of my tone. I see them all glance around at each other again. No one says anything. I turn my glare to Sirius, who freezes with his spoon midway to his mouth.

"You promised me answers when we got here" I say accusingly. He glares back at me challengingly, and seems about to say something, but he doesn't get the chance.

"We want to explain, we really do," Lily bursts out, "but we promised to not say anything until Professor Dumbledore has had the chance to speak to you himself".

Seeing my confusion, she continues, "Dumbledore's kind of the leader of all of this – he would be here now, but he was delayed on some…business with Moody – uh…another one of our members – but he should be here by this afternoon."

I'm looking at her doubtfully. What kind of a name is Dumbledore? And Moody? Is this some kind of religious cult? But again, I remember back to the strangers in the alleyway, and think that it could possibly be a whole lot worse.

Silence reigns again. They seem to be waiting for my reaction. Well this is awkward. I look around; give a small nod of acquiescence, and collapse somewhat defeatedly back into my seat.

Fabian pats my arm gently, and I realise that he's completely cleaned the wound and changed the bandage. I didn't even realise. I murmur thanks, clinging to the familiarity of manners in this sea of strangeness. He smiles at me gently, and this seems to break the spell, as Sirius turns to James saying "Oh yeah I forgot to ask – what did happen to Moody? I heard he fought off another attack a couple of days ago…"

"Mmm I was going to tell you about that. Come on" says James, standing up, and he and Sirius disappear from the kitchen. Lily is moving around and yawning, clearing my empty bowl and Sirius' from the table with a lazy flick of her wand, and I am once again astounded by how little I react to it. It'll hit me later. Gideon and Fabian are talking over by the fire again, and Lily turns to me, saying "Come on, you must be exhausted. We have a room ready for you".

She takes me gently by the arm as I leave my seat, thinking that a bed sounds pretty good right now. Even if it is in the headquarters of a cult.

"I've bought a few necessities for you, just toiletries and stuff," Lily continues, and I look at her, surprised by her thoughtfulness. It could be an act though. The warning cuts through my weary brain like a knife. Don't be fooled so easy. You still don't know what they want with you.

"It's just until we can get some of your things…" she trails off as we begin to climb the imposing staircase at the end of the entrance hallway. She was obviously about to reveal something. My things? How long do they want me to stay here? I frown at her as the banister curves around to bring us to a landing. There's a corridor here, and I can see several doors leading off of it.

"Don't worry," she says quickly. She seems to be saying that a lot. "Dumbledore will explain. You'll like him, he's very kind"

I'm not so sure, but I push it to the back of my mind. Even if they do want to keep me here, I can escape, I reason to myself. But first I need to sleep, or I won't make it far.

It seems like we're climbing forever, but we finally emerge from the last staircase (which was somewhat smaller and more rickety than the others further down) onto a landing with two doors.

"This here is yours," says Lily, pointing to the door closest to the staircase, "and over there is a bathroom you can use. It's not much, but it should be comfortable enough". She leads me into the bedroom. It's small, with a fairly low ceiling and wooden beams running across it. To the left of the doorway is a bed, too large to be a single, but not large enough for a double. It's made up with a white blanket and a tartan quilt, and every fiber of my body wants to curl up in it and never leave. There's an armoire by the bed, and on the other side of the room, by the large window, a very small writing table with an old chair. In the centre of the back wall there's even a small fireplace, with embers glowing softly in the dim light.

"Thank you", I say to Lily, and in that moment I really do mean it. She smiles,

"It's nothing. I've put some soap and stuff in the bathroom for when you want to use it"

She gestures to a huge T-shirt lying on the bed. "You can sleep in that if you want…I don't think any of my clothes will fit you very well…I could try to get some of the boys things, they'll be too big, but…"

I look down at my bloodstained dress and decide that I really want to keep something of my own with me in these foreign surroundings.

"It's alright," I reply quickly, "I'll just wear this again". Lily looks at the dress uncertainly.

"Well, at least let me try to get some of the blood out. I know a really good spell for that…"

She turns around while I change into the T-shirt, which hangs down to my mid-thighs, scrunches up my stained dress in her hands and smiles again.

"Try to get some rest, you've had a rough time. Dumbledore will be here when you wake up, I think" She looks like she wants to say something else, pauses in the doorway, then seems to think better of it and closes the door behind her. I hear her footsteps retreat down the rickety staircase, and am left to my thoughts.

It's been almost 36 hours since I last slept properly, but I can't resist going to the window. I move across the room as if in a dream. Despite the rain, I can tell that the grounds of Denwood House are incredibly beautiful. This is one of those glued-on tower rooms I saw before we came in, I think to myself, though this must be the back of the house, as I can't see the drive. Instead, there is a small stretch of patio directly below my window; and after that, a sort of wild garden that extends far away from the house, ending when it meets the start of thick woods. A room with a view. It looks like something from Jane Eyre. I stop that thought abruptly. Don't romanticise. You have to find out what they want first – this place could be a prison. I shut the thick curtains sharply, and drag myself back to the bed and under the covers. Something scratches my face, and I realise it is the zip of Sirius' leather jacket, lying next to me on the bed where I chucked it while changing. I'll return it to him later is my last coherent thought, before falling asleep to the morning song of the birds on the grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phew writing dialogue is exhausting! This chapter's pretty long for me - I had it in my head to reach a certain point of events before the end of it, and dialogue takes up so much time and space! I know it's a bit uneventful as well, but I really wanted to lay down some breadcrumbs for things that will be important later on ;) 
> 
> Please review if you have the time - they make my day and constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> Disclaimer: I only own Analeigh and other things you don't recognise - the rest is J.K. Rowling
> 
> BF xx


	5. Blood is thicker than water

I wake up slowly, climbing steadily from the world of dreams back to conciousness. Yawning, I roll myself tighter in the blankets and quilt, wishing to go back to sleep and not have to deal with the realities of my situation. Which are, as yet, unknown. This thought makes me look around, and it is the dress that finally makes me get out of bed. My white sundress is hanging from the armoire door, looking clean and freshly pressed. Lily must have returned it while I was sleeping, I think bleerily, stumbling out of bed, and to the mirror. It feels like something has died in my mouth. My hair, which has dried from the rain while I was sleeping, is falling in downy curls down my back, and my makeup has collected under my eyes giving me a panda look. I fling the curtains back from the window, and squint against the sunlight that streams in. Judging by the height of the sun it must be a few hours past noon. My stomach rumbles, and I decide that there is no putting it off any longer. You'll have to face them eventually. I grab my dress from the hanger and, pulling nervously at the hem of the giant T-shirt, step out onto the landing cautiously. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a guard or something outside my door, but there is nothing. It's completely deserted, and the house is deathly silent. I narrow my eyes in suspicion, but continue to the bathroom next door. Locking myself in, I turn around. It's very much like my room – comfortable but not lavish; and I can see where Lily put the soaps and toothbrush. There's no shower, only a large bathtub with somewhat ornate taps and, remembering the chandeliers downstairs, I'm not surprised. It fits with the whole "Victorian" theme going on here.

Reluctant to have to deal with wet hair again, I decide on a quick freshen up, jumping into the bath and brushing my teeth. It almost makes me feel normal again, and I am once again infinitely grateful to Lily. I try not to think about how rapidly the bathtub filled up (within a minute it was brimming) and zip up my dress, wiping away the makeup gathered under my eyes. I stand at the door, collect my nerves, and then step out of the bathroom onto the landing once more.

The house is still quiet, and I am struggling to remember how to get to the kitchens (my sense of direction has never been very good). I feel like I'm in a church or something - where any noise you make echoes on and on embarrassingly - so I creep down the stairs as softly as I can. I'm not sure what to do – I'm starving hungry, but what if there's no one in the kitchens? Should I just help myself? But I'm uncomfortable – every etiquette my mother ever taught me dictates that would be rude. So when I emerge into the hallway of the floor directly below mine and hear soft plucking noises, I hesitate. If it's Lily, or Fabian, or even Gideon, it'll be fine, I think. The other two are a bit intimidating. I can hear that the noise is coming from the door second down the hall from the stairs, and I make my way over. As I approach, I realise that it is the sound of a guitar picking out a tune – imperfectly - but still recognisable. Stairway to Heaven. I pause just outside the door, and lean against the wall, closing my eyes, soothed by the steady tune. Dad used to play this all the time. The notes weave in and out of my mind, and I can't bring myself to interrupt.

Until the floorboard creaks.

I cringe but don't have time to run away as the guitar breaks off and a voice that is definitely not Lily or Fabian or Gideon says "Come in"

Eugh. It couldn't have been anyone else. This is going to be mortifying. So I push the door open and slip in, turning to face the room. And there he is, sitting in the middle of a bed, hair falling in his eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips, body draped over the guitar that a moment ago was so soothing, but now makes me want to run. And he's looking at me.

"Sorry, I was just trying to find the kitchen…and I recognised the song," I say apologetically. Sirius just sits there, staring at me through his hair, a small grin pulling at his face.

"You know Led Zeppelin?" he finally says.

"Only a little bit, from my dad" I reply, by way of explanation. I'm still avoiding his gaze.

He makes a noise of understanding. Then nothing. I'm panicking a little bit. This is incredibly uncomfortable, and I scramble, trying to assemble my thoughts to make a go at conversation. The room smells vaguely of smoke, and could do with an airing, with a few clothes lying strewn around the floor and the bed unmade. But there's no pictures on the walls, nothing to suggest this is a permanent arrangement for him. The silence still presses on me, and I open my mouth to say something, anything, to break it, but he gets there first.

"Do I scare you?"

I can hear the humour in his voice, as if he's laughing at my discomfort. And I hate being laughed at.

"No, of course not" I say, raising my chin slightly and trying to sound a lot braver than I feel. Are you a man or a mouse, Analeigh? Pull yourself together.

In one swift movement, he sets the guitar aside and stubs out his cigarette in an ash tray to the side of his bed, rising to his feet. He stalks towards me, and I have to dig my bare toes into the floor to stop myself taking a step backwards, to preserve that all-important personal space. He stops, standing about a foot away from me, and bends down slightly to meet my eyes. I can see the amusement dancing in his grey ones. He's still laughing at me.

"You're a terrible liar," he says, barely more than a breath. I swallow nervously and decide that I've been brave enough for the time being.

"Kitchen" I announce, somewhat stupidly, and whirl around to leave the room. I hear him laugh, a bark like a dog, and follow me down the stairs. I'm feeling much more comfortable now that I don't have to look at him, and manage to ask "Where is everyone?"

"Out doing various things," is the mysterious response. There's a hint of bitterness to his tone. "This is headquarters, people come and go as they need to. But don't worry, there'll always be someone here to keep an eye on you"

Which is what he's doing right now, is what is unspoken in that statement. Great, so this is a kind of prison. I heave a sigh and roll my eyes, allowing him to overtake me as we reach the entrance hall. There's a giant suitcase sitting by the foot of the staircase, but Sirius doesn't remark upon it so I don't say anything.

The kitchen is dark and cold when we come in, but with a flick of his wand Sirius sets a roaring fire going in the hearth. It's the afternoon but the kitchen has the feel of a wine cellar and I rub my goosebumped arms subconsciously. Sirius is rummaging around in a cabinet to the right of the fireplace, and I start to look around for something to cook. Where's the fridge? Although, they probably have some magical solution for that as well.

Sirius seems to find what he is looking for, and emerges with a large frying pan, which he places on the stove, lighting a small flame under it as he goes. I'm feeling pretty useless at this point, unable to find anything and still feeling just a little bit uncomfortable from our previous conversation upstairs.

"What do you want to eat?" asks the man in question. He's holding his hand just over the frying pan, testing the heat. His hands are nice, I think, he has aristocratic fingers.

"Ummm…" I switch my attention back to him because he's staring at me like I'm an idiot. Unable to see a fridge or pantry and actually request something from its contents, I stay vague.

"Anything's good really"

Sirius rolls his eyes but smiles, and turns back to the cooker.

"I hope you like eggs, 'cause that's the only thing I know how to make"

With a wave of his wand, a door to the back of the kitchen flies open and food items literally start whizzing over to the frying pan, stopping only at the cutting board next to it to be chopped up by a knife that seems, somewhat alarmingly, to be working by itself. Oh my lord. I'm a little freaked out and feeling kind of light-headed and giggly, so I sit down at the long table to get myself out of the way. The way the ingredients hop along reminds me of that scene from Sleeping Beauty where the fairies are making Aurora a birthday cake. Then I imagine Sirius as a fairy, and almost can't contain my laughter.

Sirius, oblivious to my internal humour, waves his wand again and two bottles come soaring from the same cupboard. He catches one, and the other skids to a neat stop in front of me. An antique label on the side declares it to be Butterbeer and I am, once again, confused. It may be afternoon but this is functioning as my breakfast, and I'm not an alcoholic. Sirius is leaning lazily against the cooker, already sipping his and regarding me somewhat hautily through half-closed eyelids.

"Er…no thanks" I say, somewhat uncertainly. He cracks a grin.

"It's not actually alcoholic" he says, like he's stating the obvious.

Kinda like root beer then? Maybe this is magic-world soda pop. Oh what the hell.

I grab the bottle, unscrew the top and take a drink quickly, not pausing to second guess. The drink is rich and buttery, with a hint of honeycomb to it, and it fills me with warmth. Magic soda pop or not, this stuff is good.

Sirius has turned his attention back to the stove, and within a few minutes whirls around with a couple of plates in hand, hands one to me, and takes a seat opposite with his own. It's an omlette, with sausages and potatoes and I don't really know what else in it, but I'm starving and don't really believe he'd poison me, so I dig in. It's good comfort food, filling and not particularly healthy, but I think he's a pretty good cook – even if he can only make eggs. This feels so weird, I think, playing with my fork and eyeing Sirius through my lashes. Almost domestic. I repress a shudder. Ew no. He finishes his plate and does a huge stretch, bending slightly over the back of the chair, and his dark jumper to rides up, allowing a sliver of his stomach to show. I can feel my cheeks blush slightly and I look away. Jeez Analeigh, you're such a prude, I reprimand myself. But it's not just that he's attractive. It's more that he's attractive but I don't want to think of him that way. If I have to make an escape, I can't hesitate to punch him in the face (if I can) just because he's pretty. Hormones interfere with escape attempts. Keep it in check. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's keeping my feelings in check.

At the sound of the door opening, he practically springs from his seat, and I hear voices in the corridor, male and female. Sirius gives a somewhat haphazard wave of his wand, causing our empty plates to careen rather viciously towards the sink. I think he's about to jump out into the hallway, but the new arrivals beat him to it, and enter the kitchen before he has the chance. I leap to my feet, not wanting to stay seated like a lemon, and stumble slightly as the room sways for a second around me. I'm not sure I completely believe him about it not being alcoholic, I think, glaring at my now-empty bottle of butterbeer.

As the new visitors enter the room, I switch my attention, trying to wipe away the slight fuzziness at the edges of my mind. Two people – a slightly plump woman, and an old man. They are both magical, that much is obvious, wearing what looks like very fancy bathrobes. The old man is tall and has that wizened look to him, like the shell of a walnut. His beard and hair are equally long and white, and even longer than my hair. He gives off a distinct impression of oddness – but seems to command respect by his very presence, exuding knowledge and wisdom through his bright and twinkling eyes from behind half-moon spectacles balancing on his hooked nose. Eyes that are now looking directly at me.

I am dumbstruck, and cannot do more than check that my mouth is closed before continuing to stare.

"Ah Miss Grayson, how fortunate we should find you in the first place we chose to look, rather than searching the house. Please, have a seat." His voice is kind, and I obey without question. I see Sirius do the same.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and leader of the Order of the Phoenix"

This jumble of words makes absolutely no sense to me, but his eyes are still twinkling at me, and I am not alarmed. I will hear him out. He smiles with his eyes as well as his mouth. This is reassuring.

"I thought Mad-Eye was coming with you?"

Sirius' voice cuts through my musing, and Albus Dumbledore breaks his gaze to turn to Sirius, but it is his companion who answers.

"Well, we thought it best if he was absent during this explanation. Mad-Eye isn't the…easiest…company, and we didn't want to alarm her," the woman explains. She is around 30-something, with carrot-red hair and a motherly way about her that makes me long for home. She turns her brown eyes towards me, and says "I'm Molly Weasley. Don't worry dear, we'll help you sort things out in your head. But first, some tea I think," She pats my hand, almost absent-mindedly, and makes her way towards the fireplace.

I turn back to Dumbledore, who seems equally content to wait for tea.

"Firstly, Analeigh, I must apologise profusely for the method by which you were bought here," begins Dumbledore, as Molly pours us all tea in little china cups with saucers. I have no idea where she found them.

"It was not my intention to alarm you, but your safety is, of course, paramount.

"We intended to explain everything before bringing you to our headquarters, to allow you to make your own decision, but the other side moved sooner than we thought, and spontaneous plans had to be made." He smiles wistfully.

"As you have already seen, there are witches and wizards among us. Most British magical children are educated at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – the school over which I am fortunate enough to preside as headmaster. But the wizarding world is currently at war with itself. A group of wizards called the Death Eaters is attempting to take over the Ministry of Magic, the governing body of the wizarding world. We, the Order of the Phoenix, are attempting to prevent this. Do you understand so far?"

It's like blanks in the events of the past day are being steadily filled in, albeit with crazy explanations. But I get it. I nod.

Dumbledore continues, "The Death Eaters are led by a man called Lord Voldemort – " There is a gasp at the table from Molly as he says this, although Sirius looks fairly nonplussed. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," says Dumbledore, with only a hint of reprimand in his voice. Molly does not say anything, but she looks disturbed. I am shocked – how can anyone be so terrible that even the sound of their name is feared?

"The Death Eaters believe," continues Dumbledore, as if the interruption never happened, "that wizarding folk of 'pure' blood (that is, they have had only witches and wizards in their bloodline) are superior to wizards who have the blood of non-magical persons in their ancestry. And he most certainly believes them superior to Muggles – what we term non-magic folk such as yourself. He would see you all enslaved, and this is why he seeks control of the Ministry of Magic.

"For this reason, the Order of the Phoenix was created. We are a secret society that works with the Ministry and against the Death Eaters, to prevent Lord Voldemort from ever gaining sufficient power to accomplish his aims. Do you have any questions so far?"

He smiles kindly at me, and I try to overcome my muteness. It makes sense, kind of, so far. If I just go with it, maybe I can understand. Or maybe they're all insane – but any escape attempt will have to wait till later.

"No, please continue," I manage to croak out.

Dumbledore nods.

"Of course, you must wonder where you fit in to this, but I would ask you – did you notice anything strange in the alleyway, when the Death Eaters tried to abduct you, before James and Sirius arrived? Aside from the obvious."

I think of the two men shoving me against the wall, brandishing their wands, and think, a whole lot of weird happened that night, which part do you want me to pick? But then I remember the bandage that still glares on my arm, and I know that Dumbledore sees the flash of recognition in my eyes.

"One of the Death Eaters tasted your blood that night, didn't he?"

I nod again, biting my lip to keep it from shaking. Dumbledore takes a deep breath.

"And here is the crux of the matter. Your blood has the capacity to lend strength and invulnerability to anyone who ingests it – the potency of which depends on how much they drink. James had a much more difficult time dealing with that Death Eater than the one who did not drink you blood. It imparts limited immunity to most magic. So it is fortunate that Mulciber had only that one lick of your blood, or else James may not have made such a lucky escape. It is for this reason that the Death Eaters wish to have you under their control – your blood is a dramatic advantage to whichever side possesses it. We do not wish to use you for any reason, Analeigh, but you must understand that we cannot allow Lord Voldemort to gain this advantage. I do not believe it would be an exaggeration to say that with your blood, he and his followers would be invincible."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. The blood has drained from my face and there's a weird humming in my brain again like back in the alleyway, and I keep staring at Dumbledore but he seems very far away, like I'm looking at him from underwater. But underneath my panic there is a note of calm, an element of rationality that suggests well, you did suspect that this all came back to blood. And it is this pinch of consciousness that allow me to spit out:

"How is this possible? My blood's normal – well I'm a little anaemic but really, it's not super tonic or anything…"

I trail off. Dumbledore is doing that thing again where he manages to convey reassurance and understanding without even speaking. Sirius is looking kind of awkward and a bit impatient, which is aggravating because it's not like HE'S the one who Voldemure or whatever wants to use as a human blood bag. But it's Molly who speaks first, and her tone is what calms me.

"We're not absolutely certain yet, but we have people looking into it. I know it's difficult to come to terms with, dear, but you'll have to trust us for now. Besides, you saw it yourself in the alleyway – it's not safe for you."

In this moment she sounds just like a mother hen, and it's like a switch has flicked in my brain and I am immediately thrust back in to panic, this time for my family.

"Shit!" I exclaim, slamming my hands down flat on the table and causing my teacup to rattle ominously in its saucer. I catch Sirius smirk momentarily out of the corner of my eye, but Dumbledore seems unfazed by the expletive. "What about my parents? Are they in danger too? We're related, do they have…uh…weird blood too?" I'm struggling to find the right words, but I think they understand. Molly and Sirius exchange glances and can't seem to look at me, but Dumbledore holds my gaze and says at a measured pace,

"No, your parents are not in any immediate danger, and they do not share your blood's properties. We have, however, taken measures to protect them, just in case."

I relax back in to my chair slightly. "Can I talk to them?" I plead. "I need to warn them about this, I can't just disappear, they'll be really worried and I can't do that to them…"

Dumbledore allows me to burn my words out before replying. There's a certain sadness in his eyes.

"That will not be possible, I'm afraid," he says. "Your parents are no longer aware of your existence, and are leaving the country very soon"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow so this chapter was a really difficult one to write, and I'm pretty sure it shows :S Apologies for the general clumsiness of this chapter - hopefully the sheer length of it counts for something (it's a personal record :P )!
> 
> Reviews are loved and cherished and make my day :D
> 
> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything except Analeigh and Analeigh-related things
> 
> BFxx


	6. Walk two moons

I freeze. I'm not exactly sure I heard him correctly. "W-What…?" I manage to stutter.

Dumbledore takes a deep breath and leans forward on the table, pushing his fingertips together in a steeple. "While Sirius was bringing you here, my colleague Alastor Moody and I ensured that your parents were safe. To completely protect them, it was necessary to remove all memories of your existence from their minds, and give them a sudden strong desire to go to what I believe is your usual family holiday house in South Carolina - indefinitely. This will remove them from harms way, as Voldemort will not dare to harm Muggles directly under the nose of the United States Ministry of Magic."

"How…" I begin lamely, my eyes as wide as saucers.

"We spoke to your father about the situation, and he agreed to allow us to alter both his and your mother's memories – "

That's it. The last feeble fibres holding my mind together against this onslaught of information have snapped, and I am overcome by rage. There is a high-pitched screaming in my mind like a kettle left on the stove for too long, and my face is hot. Almost unconsciously, I am suddenly on my feet and only become aware that I have thrown both my teacup and its saucer at the wall when I hear the tinkling of broken china.

"HOW DARE YOU?" I screech at Dumbledore, and there is something inside of me that wants to slap him, to shake him, to make him understand just how outraged and furious and sad and lost I am right now. My head is pounding and I am beginning to understand the true meaning of the phrase "seeing red".

My fist slams on the table top. "YOU BRAINWASHED MY PARENTS!" I continue to shout.

"Analeigh, you must calm down - please understand this is not a permanent arrangement – " Dumbledore begins, but it is nothing more than a whisper to my ears. I will not listen, this has gone too far.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL TELL THE POLICE AND YOU'LL ALL GO TO JAIL!" The building tension in my body makes me want to lash out - I have to hit something, someone, the frustration is killing me. I sweep my arm across the table, sending the rest of the china tea cups whizzing off the end, and am about to lunge at Dumbledore himself when I am jerked back by a tight grip on my shoulder.

"That's enough of that," says Sirius somewhere close to my ear. He doesn't sound angry or shocked at all – if anything, he's vaguely amused. I feel light-headed and dizzy, and black dots pop around across my vision. The rage is leaving me, and I can barely move my fingers from the exhaustion. Sirius eases me back in to the chair and returns to his seat. He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, but one stern look from Dumbledore wipes the smirk off his face. Molly is clearing up the mess I made and the cold fingers of guilt and embarrassment are beginning to creep up my spine. I look at Dumbledore, and see nothing in his face but sympathy and sadness.

"I understand your distress – were there any way to avoid this situation, we would have done it" he says.

"You spoke to my father?" My words are faint, as I'm still slightly light-headed.

"Yes. I told him everything that I told you moments ago, as well as the dangers that might befall himself and your mother should Voldemort attempt to use them as leverage against you."

"Why – " I start, but Dumbledore knows what I'm about to say.

"Why your father? The Ministry of Magic has long since had dealings with the muggle Prime Minister – it is necessary to inform each successive head of the country of our existence, for safety and security purposes. Your father is a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet, and it was easier to convince him of the truth with his Prime Minister in the room to support our claims."

I frown, trying to imagine two wizards, the Prime Minister of Great Britain and my father all sitting in the same room, discussing magic. The thought is too ludicrous to dwell on.

"We advised your father, and he agreed, eventually, to accept our protection."

"So you just went ahead and wiped his memories." I snarl, regaining some of the anger from earlier. Dumbledore holds up his hand.

"Analeigh, you must be fair. We told your father every detail that we have told you. He agreed to have his and his wife's memories altered, for both your safety and theirs. He agreed to allow us to plant the idea in his mind to spend the coming months in South Carolina. And ultimately, he agreed to allow us custody and protection of you."

This is too much. I can't control myself any longer, and I burst into tears. The anger and rage from earlier has completely deserted me, and all I feel is abandonment. My father didn't even insist on speaking to me before deciding. Molly is squeezing my hand again but I am too far down my spiral of despair to draw any comfort from it.

Dumbledore is not yet finished. "The memory alterations are not permanent, Analeigh. As soon as it is safe for you, we will restore them to your parents, and all will be as it was before. It is for their safety that they have left the country. And it is for your safety that your father agreed to temporarily lose precious memories of you – so that if they were ever to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters, they would be completely incapable of giving them any information about you. So you see, Analeigh. Your parents have not abandoned you – not truly."

He seems to guess my thoughts, but I cannot stop crying. All I can think of is my parents at our old holiday home on Folly Beach, enjoying the sun while having no recollection of their only daughter. The three people in the room seem to be waiting for my response. I close my eyes, and try to regain that sliver of rationality through all the horror and sadness.

I nod in acceptance, allowing my head to fall into my hands.

"It will become easier with time," says Dumbledore. Easy for you to say. I can't bear to look at anyone. My face is drenched with tears and I hate it. I look weak.

Dumbledore seems to sense my distress, as he says to Molly "Please take Analeigh back to her room, I imagine she could use some rest. Sirius, if I could have a word please. There's something I would like you to do…".

That's all I hear before Molly pulls me gently from the kitchen, and I am barely aware of climbing the stairs back to my room. Lying at the foot of the bed is the large suitcase I saw in the entrance hall when Sirius and I went down to the kitchen.

"Dumbledore had Mundungus – another of our members – bring a few of your things from your flat…thought it might help to make you more comfortable," explains Molly. I collapse seated on the side of the bed, hunched over with my hands folded in my lap, and try not to think of a stranger breaking in to my flat and rifling through my belongings. Molly is unpacking the suitcase, sending clothes and personal items soaring across the room, but I've had enough for today so I turn my head to face the wall, tears still streaming down my cheeks. I don't know how long I sit like this – long after Molly, having given up trying to talk to me, leaves the room, and long after I hear the door slam and a car pull away as someone leaves.

My parents don't remember me. It is this that hurts the most. Regardless of the Death Eaters and their supposedly terrifying leader, or the strangeness of my own blood – it is the sense of abandonment that sends shivers running up and down my spine, and keeps the tears pouring from my eyes. I try to motivate myself, to get some feeling back into my limp limbs. Dad knows. Or at least, he knew when he made the decision. This should comfort me, but instead I find myself lamenting that I couldn't have spoken to him just once before everything happened. And Ma. She doesn't know a thing. My mother, who has been my strongest source of support and guidance my whole life, is now completely out of reach. Knowing that I am in a situation beyond her help is the most terrifying thing I have felt so far. I cannot deal with these thoughts any longer, and collapse fully on the bed, crying myself to sleep.

The days and nights all blur together. I slip in and out of consciousness, barely distinguishing dreams from reality and wallowing in self-pity. There's an aching hole inside of me that gapes a little wider each time I remind myself there is no one coming to help you, there is no one you can talk to, there is nothing other than this house and these people to separate you from the horrors of that alleyway and worse. I cannot face those things, so I stay in my room, with the curtains drawn shut, and ignore everyone who tries to talk to me.

Molly came again, a bit later, and tried to get me to eat something, but I refused and eventually she went away. I think she has left the house now, but I'm not really sure. Someone always brings me food at meal times, but I don't always look to see who it is. Lily came yesterday, I think, and even James stuck his head round the door to say hi, but he left pretty quick when I told him to get out. I don't blame him, I probably look a fright. The rational part of me knows that I am wallowing in self-pity, and that the situation cannot be helped - my parents will be safer this way. But the irrational side of me cannot bear to be a prisoner in this house with these people any longer, and I know that I have to at least try to get away.

It is the sound of the motorcycle engine that finally gets me out of bed. I drag myself over to the doorway, and listen to the voices downstairs. I cannot make out individual words, but it seems that several people are leaving. I hear a car drive away, and the door slams shut. The house is suddenly quieter than it has been in days, and I realise that, once again, there is only one other person in the house with me. There'll always be someone here to keep an eye on you, he said. But the motorcycle that arrived did not leave, which means it's him that's still here.

I tip-toe back to my bed noiselessly. It's just Sirius now. You'll never have a better opportunity to escape. The possibility is invigorating, and I feel the hole in my chest fill with steel determination. I'm so light-headed though, having not eaten much for a couple of days. There's a sandwich from this morning sitting on the small writing-table that is still relatively fresh, and I wolf it down. Dusk is falling outside, and I rush to the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a dark tank top and sweatshirt. I came in white, I'll leave in black, I think, tossing the old sundress to floor. I emerge on to the landing, and suddenly realise that I have no plan to actually get outside without Sirius noticing, and that this is not very well thought out at all. But the determination forged back in my room refuses to give in to doubt, and I decide to use plain old-fashioned sneaking.

I descend slowly to the landing with Sirius' room. I can't hear anything from behind his door, so I move on past, being careful this time to avoid the creaking floorboard. As I descend further to the ground floor, I hear movement from inside the room opposite the kitchen entrance, on the other side of the entrance hallway. Flattening myself against the wall I pause, clenching my eyes shut and waiting to be discovered if he comes out of the room. But the door remains shut, and I hear the familiar sound of weight being thrown on an armchair or couch, and an accompanying satisfied sigh. I glare at the front door - chances are I could make it outside and down the drive a little ways before he caught up with me, but not much further. I'm thinking fast now. This is an old house, probably from before Edwardian times. The masters of the house wouldn't have wanted the servants using the main entrance…Back door. There must be a back door. Some way out that doesn't involve crossing in front of that room.

Glancing once behind me, I crouch down lower to the floor, edging my way to the side of the main staircase. And there it is. In the shadow of the stairs, I can just discern the outline of a narrow corridor, leading towards the back of the house. I'll take my chances. Hopefully it doesn't just end in a cellar or something. There is no background noise, so I cannot afford a single creak, a single misstep or loss of balance, but I make it through the corridor without incident. It's obviously rarely used – cobwebs are clinging to the low rafted ceiling, and there are no lights on the walls. But I allow myself a satisfied smirk when, reaching the end of the corridor, I find what I'm looking for. The back door is small and its hinges slightly rusted, but I ease it open inch by inch. I'm not too worried if it squeaks a bit – I'm far enough away from the main entrance for it not to be heard. It's a laborious process, but within two minutes I am out the door and standing barefoot on the grassy gardens of Denwood House.

The setting sun sets the sky aflame to the west, and casts a dusky light on the semi-wild gardens. Rose bushes and brambles are in flower and have long since climbed out of their allocated beds. The air is filled with their heady scent and it is beautiful but I'm too nervous to appreciate it - the enormity of what I'm attempting to do is just hitting me. I gulp, take a deep breath, and allow the remaining aftershocks of determination to propel me towards the woods at the far end of the gardens. I need to get out of sight of the house. I jog on the balls of my feet, making my way soundlessly, all the while trying to get my bearings. We drove west from Kendal to get here. Any further west and it's likely I'll hit the sea. Best bet is to head east, and see if I can find a village along the way.

The woods are very dark compared to the gardens, the dim light of the setting sun unable to reach through the thick foliage. There is a cool musty smell that suggests age, and as I continue east-wards I wonder vaguely how old this forest is.

That's when the footsteps start. They're faint and fairly distant, muffled by the dense trees, but it's obviously Sirius and he's making no attempt to be quiet.

"Analeigh! Come on this is – " I hear a crash and wonder if he fell over. I hope so. I hear his cursing and realise he's getting closer. I take off. The thought of being chased sends adrenaline pounding through my body, humming at the very tips of my fingers. It's something primal, and I dart through the trees no long caring which direction I'm going so long as it's away from the predator. My bare feet make just the slightest rustle in the grass and fallen leaves, softer than the pitter-patter of rain drops on a window, but it won't be my footsteps that give me away – my breathing is so loud it seems to echo off the old trunks of the close trees. The heavy sounds are further away now, and I pause to catch my breath. Looking around, I can see that the trees are thinning slightly, and I can make out a large body of water in the distance. A lake maybe?

The silence beats on my ears like a drum. I can no longer hear Sirius. This doesn't comfort me, because there is no chance that he would just give up. Then I hear it. It's so faint I almost didn't catch it but once I do it is evident it is nothing human. Something is growling, and it's close.

I start to run again, even more terrified. Who knows what monsters exist in this magical world of theirs? The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up and the lake is getting closer and closer and I can't hear the growling any more but I don't stop and –

Something slams into me hard from the side and I go down with an oof but I can't fight because I'm winded and there's a heavy weight on top of me.

"For fuck's sake, will you stop squirming!" Sirius glares down at me from inches away. He looks like he's not quite as nimble at moving through trees as I am – there are a few leaves in his hair and a scratch on his forearm where blood is just starting to surface. I've recovered my breath a bit and he's lying semi-ontop of me so I do the only thing I can think of.

I bring up my hand and smack him hard across the face.

I don't think he was expecting it, and the element of surprise works in my favour, allowing me to squirm out from under him as he loses his balance and falls to the side. I scoot back away on my forearms and almost make it to my feet before his hand shoots out and grabs my ankle, dragging me back towards him. I let out a little scream of frustration and aim a kick at his face with my free foot, but he's faster and is on his feet, away from my legs and moving towards me and my foot hits air. He grabs my arm in a vice-like grip, yanking me to my feet so abruptly that I feel my shoulder grate in its socket.

We're nose to nose now, and I can feel the fury emanating from him. The cheek where I slapped him seems to glow in the gathering darkness, and I feel myself cringing slightly. Our tussle has made me very aware of my physical disadvantage. We stand there for a moment, both breathing heavily, me avoiding his gaze as it burns into my face.

"What the hell was that?" he asks eventually, once his breathing has slowed.

I turn my head even further away. It's pretty obvious. I tried to get away. I failed. The end.

"Are you stupid or something? Dumbledore even sat down and explained the whole damn thing to you! Do you want to die? Is that it?" He's not exactly shouting, but it's still pretty scary. His tone is somewhere between exasperation and anger, but there's something laced in with it, something almost encouraging. He's baiting me, I realise. Trying to get a reaction. Like in the kitchen.

"Go on, say something." He shakes me a little by the arm he's still holding, and my resolve cracks. I don't fly in to a rage, but I feel hot tears running down my face.

"I've just had to leave behind my whole life for the sake of some magical world that I want nothing to do with!" I can't look at him, not with tears running down my face, so I direct my words at the ground between us. "My father has left me alone to deal with this – has willingly had his memories wiped – to protect us, yes, but it's still…hard. And you obviously have no idea how that feels, or else you wouldn't be standing there wondering why I tried to leave!"

I bring my hand up to wipe the tears from my eyes and feel his grip on my arm loosen. And then he laughs. It's a short, humourless sound, but enough to make my head snap up and look at him in confusion. How can he be so cruel? His eyes are narrowed and he's looking at me in contempt.

"You're right, I don't. You have a family that's willing to sacrifice everything to keep your stupid ass safe. Mine don't give a shit – my father's dead, my mother disowned me, and my brother…well I'm as good as dead to him as well. So dry your eyes, pull yourself together and just try to see the bigger picture here. At least you have family who cares – or doesn't their safety mean anything to you?"

I'm pretty sure my mouth has fallen open. What…His words are like a slap across the face, and for a moment I'm frozen, trying to make sense of them. "Don't judge your neighbour until you have walked two moons in his moccasins". The proverb springs into my head without warning. It's a favourite saying of my American grandfather's - he's got some Native American in him and is mighty proud of it, even though most people in that part of the world have some if you go back far enough. Easier said than done, Gramps. But I raise my gaze now to meet Sirius' eyes, and I see his resentment and the hardness that it has forged and I think that maybe, just maybe, I should cut him a little slack.

Sirius frowns at my expression, and seems to think he's said too much. "So are you coming back to the house, or do I have to drag you?"

Looking just over his shoulder, I can see the expanse of the lake and the sun setting beyond it. I imagine my gaze stretching further west, to the coast, across the Atlantic, and eventually reaching the eastern shore of the United States where my parents will be. It's not much but I draw strength from it, and realise that for the safety of those I love, I am strong enough to face this chapter of my life alone.

Looking back at him, I roll my eyes slightly and turn, walking slowly back in the direction of Denwood House, my mind feeling clearer than it has in days. The rude, enigmatic young man falls in to step beside me, running his hands through his hair to shake out the leaves, and a thought strikes me. "How did you realise I was gone?" I ask, curious.

He pauses in his haphazard grooming and replies with somewhat forced nonchalance, "Heard the back door creak open when you left. It wasn't hard to find you after that." Well that's embarrassing. Note to self – Sirius has ridiculously good hearing. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and rub the area on my arm where a bruise is coming up from his grip earlier. I'll cut him some slack, but family issues aside – he's still a jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost 4000 words woo! Thank you to everyone reading this story :D I should probably say - the chapter title and proverb both come from the book "Walk two moons" by Sharon Creech - I don't know if she came up with the quote herself, or whether it is originally Native American, but that's where I first read it so I'm just going to credit her haha
> 
> Also, I changed the title of this fic - sorry if that confused any one! "Blood Magic" was one I literally came up with on the spot when I was staring at the submission box realising that I totally forgot to come up with a title, and I think that shows haha. So this one's a little more subtle, but let me know if y'all hate it or anything :P
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Review it! They are much appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything except Analeigh and Analeigh-related things
> 
> BFxx

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for giving this story a go, I'm not very good at summaries/descriptions. I posted this on fanfiction.net a few months back, but I'm a fan of AO3 too so I decided I'd put it on here as well. I should probably warn people that the events in this story will be mostly from my imagination, though they will fit with canon - I'm thinking it takes place in the time between graduating from Hogwarts and James and Lily having to go into hiding, when they're all in the Order. So if that isn't your thing, or you don't like fictions involving a muggle, then this is probably not for you :) but to those who are willing to give it a go, thank you so much and I'll try to keep my writing to as high a standard as I can.


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